Normal
by Poli Almasy
Summary: Mark and Roxanne, post S2 finale. Some things are normal, even when they are different.
1. Chapter 1

"I should be anywhere but here."

Roxanne didn't say this aloud, but the words ring clearly in her head. It's the deafening sound of early afternoon sobriety.

Her ballet-flat clad feet were perched on the coffee table, knees drawn slightly towards her chest. Sometimes she just feels like a mass of limbs, disconnected from the rest of her body. It's one of those days, and her limbs are tingling.

It's 1:13 and Mark is making coffee behind her, clattering around his apartment as if this is the most natural thing in the world. The thing is, it is natural. It's his apartment, of course it's natural.

Yesterday this could have happened, or the day before, or the week before, or the month. All of this is perfectly normal. Still, her fingertips and toes feel electric. They are friends, and have been for quite awhile now. Friends having coffee at 1:13 in the afternoon. Normal, natural.

Mark holds the cup out for Roxanne to take and she clutches it between her electric fingers. Maybe she's clutching it too tightly. Maybe she'll break it. She's good at that. Still, she smiles into the cup, as if he wouldn't notice.

His feet go onto the table next to hers, but then he's pulling her legs across his body, across his lap. It catches Roxanne off-guard and she barely manages not to spill her coffee all over herself. She doesn't have a change of clothes. Spilling coffee would be tragic.

Mark has one hand on the outside of her thigh and the other one around his own coffee. Normal, almost painfully so. It's quiet and domestic. He's not forcing her into either chit chat or deep, 'meaningful' conversation. She's been waiting for his expectations to weigh down on her, but they're just not coming.

After all this time pursuing her, claiming over and over again that he was right, that this would happen, after being so fucking sure, Roxanne hadn't wanted to give Mark the satisfaction. Then she was scared. "Only the chase," she told herself. "The idea of Roxanne," not the woman herself. She was a high functioning type of broken that seemed appealing from the outside but terrifying in reality. There were lots of things she thought about before he kissed her. Things, lots of them.

Mark's hand drifted with a purpose, but it waes all chaste, just the same. Over her kneecap, down to the edge of her flats, back up to her ankle.

The coffee was very strong and only lukewarm. She set it down on the table.

It felt normal, natural, to kiss Mark like this, her legs thrown over his, her shoes still on even though she had slept there the night before. Slept in his bed, the night before, not the couch like she had before. They had fallen asleep in their clothes like children exhausted from a day of excitement in the bright sun. The drowsiness that came from being too warm had overtaken them. Mark didn't give a damn where she put her shoes.

His hands were in her hair even though it was full of tangles. Didn't bother him one bit. She could taste the sugar that had been in his coffee. Or maybe she imagined that part.

Roxanne wasn't naïve, not by a fucking long shot, but she thought, for sure, that the giddiness would have subsided by now. Why then, were her lungs still filled with bubbles of excitement when he touched the back of her neck? Maybe it was that she liked being pursued. Maybe she liked giving in. Maybe she liked Mark.

Definitely that last one, for sure.

A/N More? I don't know if there is any interest in this


	2. Chapter 2

It took real effort on Mark's part not to start changing things. Roxanne had said she liked his apartment as it was. The red plastic cups and the collection of other women's bobby pins and hair ties. Even before, when she had been incapable of admitting that she liked him (he knew better, even then) she freely admitted to liking his apartment.

Still, it had been four days since she 'assaulted' him in the park. Four days since they innocently fell asleep in his bed after making out like high schoolers for a solid hour. Mark's pants got a little tight just thinking about it. Just a little though, he wasn't a high schooler, after all.

Since then she had come by the bar twice after work, but they both went home alone. He knew better than to push her too fast after making a bit of progress. They had kissed and fondled in one of the more secluded corners of the bar, away from the prying eyes of the weekday crowd. Tonight they had an actual date.

A real, pre-planned, totally legit date. Adult stuff. It would consist of ordering in from Irazu and flipping through Netflix arguing over what to watch. It was going to be glorious.

If everything went according to his meticulous plan, she would either storm out and they would have to start over from square one, or Roxanne would, for the second time, end up in his bed. Maybe with more than a little over-the-clothes petting this time.

It was this prospect, having Roxanne in his bed, that was giving him pause. He stood in his bedroom contemplating the particular arrangement of elements. The bed was in the middle of the room. Ok, standard. There were two end tables, one at each side. Perfectly normal. The thing was, the had random assorted crap on both the the bedside tables. Half read books and briefly glanced at magazines made up most of the clutter. There was a water bottle on one and a strange turtle shaped paperweight on the other. A stack of cardboard coasters with random doodles had been knocked over and scattered over the magazines. Both sides where just crammed with crap.

If Roxanne didn't mind the other idiosyncratic of his apartment, it was unlikely that she would even pay attention to the way he had territoriality spread out across the available surfaces. After all, this was_ his_ apartment and _his_ crap. It was small and messy compared to her place. Well, not that messy in comparison since Lily had moved in. Roxanne had become increasingly tolerant of Lily's habits.

Still, the scene in front of him was...troubling. It seemed off balance. Not like his crap would tumble over onto the floor. No, he was sure that the arrangement of items was structurally sound. If anything, the two nightstands were totally balanced. They both had an equal distribution of his crap, even if the specifics of his crap differed. Come on, like he would have two dumb-ass turtle paperweights. One was fine by him.

Mark stood at the end of his bed, contemplating his nightstands until his buzzer went off.

Roxanne.

He panicked, opened the drawer in the nightstand closest to the door (Roxanne had laid on that side, last time) and scooted most everything that had been on top of the table into the drawer. He slammed it shut with a satisfying clunk just before the buzzer went off a second time.

That would have to do, for now.


End file.
